


Horrible Cliche AU challenge

by norcumi



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Challenge Response, Cliche, Don’t copy to another site, Fake/Pretend Relationship, GFY, Immortality, Mistaken Identity, Multi, New Neighbors, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Reincarnation, Sex Pollen, Work Up For Adoption, only the one chapter is actually smutty, rescued from the tumblr purge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-10-06 12:08:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17344967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/norcumi/pseuds/norcumi
Summary: Assorted responses to a Cliche Challenge on Tumblr.1. Rex/Obi, “Mistaken Identity, Fake Relationship, and Modern Day AU”2. Rex/Obi “Reincarnation AU”3. Cody/Rex/Obi-wan “New Neighbors AU”4. Rex/Obi “Superhero AU” (warning, very NSFW)5. Dogma/Echo/Fives, “Sharing a cab as a getaway car from a heist”6. Qui-Gon/Obi-Wan, “Reincarnation AU”7. Obi-Wan/Rex, “Immortal AU”





	1. Rex/Obi, “Mistaken Identity, Fake Relationship, and Modern Day AU”

**Author's Note:**

> From a cliche challenge originally posted [here](http://sensoryinputpatterns.tumblr.com/post/100279811164/send-me-a-horribly-cliched-au-a-pairing-for-a). No longer taking prompts, just putting this on AO3 after my tumblr got deleted in the recent purge. I'm now over at [Norcumii](https://norcumii.tumblr.com/) because they'll have to try harder than that to get rid of me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted to Tumblr on 09/02/2017 for [TheAceApples](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAceApples/pseuds/TheAceApples).
> 
> Tip of the hat to @dharmaavocado and their [Open Up the Promise of the Day](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11353227), for Reasons.

“I’m terribly sorry, it’s been a farce of an afternoon that has, in fact, included getting drenched by a passing cab.”

Rex blinked at the ginger sitting down at his table. The man’s hair was slicked down with the rain that was still a steady drizzle outside, but his clothes seemed reasonable enough, and not in fact drenched. Catching Rex’s look, the ginger grimaced. “It was right outside my apartment, but by the time I’d changed, I’d missed my train and of course I didn’t realize my phone should not have gotten wet until _after_ I got out of the subway. Otherwise I’d have sent a message. This is not the first date I would have tried for, sorry.”

Oh. Rex stifled a wince. Oh, that sucked. Blind date, or some such, and the poor bastard had shown up late. Since Rex had been in the coffee shop for over an hour already but he hadn’t seen _anyone_ looking awkward or distraught, that meant on top of everything else the ginger had been stood up.

There was no graceful way out of this.

“Not a problem,” he hedged, not quite sure how to let the ginger down kindly. He winced inside at the grateful look he got for that, sitting hard on the instant interest. He didn’t typically go for the bearded type, but there was no denying that this man made it work.

The ginger launched into an entertaining and mildly grumpy conversation about the weather – New York springs could be _erratic_ , and Rex agreed whole-heartedly – which segued into light chit-chat about books and art. It was typical first date stuff, and several times Rex had to remind himself that this _wasn’t_ a date.

He was just…looking for a kind exit. Right.

Hell, he still didn’t know the man’s name.

“Well, well, well,” a deep voice interrupted. “If it isn’t Captain Rex. How _are_ you doing?”

The voice came from behind Rex, so he allowed himself the moment of an eye-twitch (fine, he couldn’t quite stop himself) because damned if he was going to let his poor not-date think that this was a fucking _friendly_ that was intruding. Rex plastered on a small, empty grin, reminded himself that this was a good coffee shop that he didn’t want to be banned from, and he turned in his chair.

“Krell,” he drawled, glad that he was out of the military and no longer needed to address the asshat by rank. “Long time no see.”

“Indeed.” The beefy man strolled over, giving Rex’s date – not-date –  the predatory grin that was warning of Alpha male bullshit. “The captain and I used to be in the 501st together. You a fellow serviceman?”

Rex could _see_ his not-date’s moment of calculation. Then the ginger’s eyes flickered over to Rex, and there was just the slightest tilt of a brow. “No, I’m just a teacher.” There was a touch of condescension, self-depreciation in mockery. Rex admired that. He also appreciated the neutral answer, not presuming to out either of them. That questioning look, though, the body language – it was permission to.

It really should have bothered him that he could read the body language of someone else’s date that well, but he had bigger concerns.

Krell laughed, a sharp huff that took up too much space. “I see. Catching up on the times while the little woman’s off shopping?”

“Still not married,” Rex growled, ignoring the ostentatious way Krell waved a hand placatingly – all the better to show off his own wedding band.

“Well, I’m sure you’ll find the right girl someday.”

He couldn’t quite stop an eyeroll of disgust, and that ended on the ginger. They had a moment, exchanging a look of ‘can you believe this asshole?’ that somehow mutated into ‘can we do something about this?’

Rex nodded, because he could see the spark of vicious amusement in his not-date’s eyes. The ginger leaned back, arms crossing as he tilted towards Rex. His body language morphed into indolent casualness, and he somehow managed to look down his nose at Krell – a man taller than he if they’d both been standing, nevermind that the ginger was sitting. “Oh come on,” he drawled, sharp and condescending as only a native New Yorker could be – regardless of the British accent. There was something to the attitude, the ‘don’t give any fucks’ meeting ‘this is the hub of the world now get out of my way I’ve shit to do’ that Rex had never seen anyone nail quite so hard. “What century are you stuck in?”

“Excuse you?” Krell growled.

Rex’s date – not-date – smirked and reached across the table, placing his hand atop Rex’s. “Public space, so I’ll leave the PDAs to your discretion, darling.”

He pretended to think. “Children present, and still not married.” He locked eyes with his not-date before lifting the man’s hand to place a slow kiss to the knuckles. “Yet.”

Oh god. He had not just done that.

He had.

Fuck. It was worth both the ginger’s deep blush and the way Krell recoiled, stomping off muttering things that got him glared at by the handful of other patrons in the place. Might not have been worth the hard on he’d given himself, making bedroom eyes at the poor bastard before acting like some idiot in a Jane Austen adaptation.

There was an awkward silence as the place settled, then Rex cleared his throat. “Uh. Thank you. He was always a pain in my ass the entire time he thought he was running the company.”

The ginger shook his head. “No need. Taking down bigoted assholes is a hobby I don’t get to engage in often enough.”

Well, it wasn’t like he could make himself _more_ embarrassed. Rex made himself meet the man’s eyes. “I…also have to confess that I’m not whoever it was you came to meet.”

A wry grin flitted across the ginger’s face, something rueful and a bit sad in his eyes. “I figured that out. A little late, perhaps, but a military man is not going to be a die-hard pacifist. Also, the coffee instead of tea.”

Oh _good_ , the ginger had _known_ the entire time he was pretending to be boyfriends in front of – wait. Rex facepalmed. “You’re a ‘philosophy fanatic and historian with a speciality in pointless wars waged in places they shouldn’t be?’” he asked.

The ginger recoiled a little. “How did you – ?”

Oh, he was going to have _words_ with Satine. “I might have heard a tirade or two. I’m Kryze’s usual wingman.” That only got him a more confused look. “We’re not incredibly close friends, but we go way back and when she meets up with someone from the internet, she appreciates backup just in case. She just doesn’t _tell_ me that it’s one of those coffee dates instead of bitching about work because the one time she did I supposedly glared too much.” Hell, it’d been justified. Vizla had been an utter creep.

The ginger seemed to settle a little, humor chasing some of the sadness out of his eyes. “So when I was told to meet up with a blond at the front nook table…”

“I would’ve arrived first and she’d have chased me off to a different table, after she’d bribed me with plenty of expensive coffee.” Right. He should mention that. “Look, she’s out on Long Island, and when the weather’s like this the driveway and the electricity can be cranky as hell. She wouldn’t stand you up.”

That smile became something real, and warm. “Nor you, I imagine.” He offered a hand. “Obi-Wan, at your service. I thought it was a bit odd you weren’t asking my name.”

He smiled back. “Rex.” Satine might kill him for poaching a friend, but…. “Does this make it officially a first date?”

Fuck, he could get used to that smile. “I do hope so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (note: Satine and Rex being good buds is ALL Dharmaavocado’s fault. They’re frikkin’ awesome.)


	2. Rex/Obi “Reincarnation AU”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted on Tumblr 09/02/2017, for [Alyyks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alyyks/pseuds/alyyks).

“Excuse me?”

Brenin turned and flinched a bit, trying to cover it up by running a hand over his hair, tugging the blond tail back over his shoulder. The First Order scared him, fucked with his head something serious, but he _was_ only two generations removed from an actual clone trooper.

The latest batch of deserters had been foisted off on this small outpost of the Resistance, and Brenin’s skin had crawled from the first moment he’d seen them emerge from the shuttle in lockstep. They’d all heard the stories here in the Resistance, how the First Order kidnapped babies and raised them to be fighters unparalleled. It was one more horrific war crime that brought to mind too many stories Brenin had heard about Kamino, about sleeping tubes and reconditioning and it never ceased to make him sick that Kaminoans had raised millions of clones better than the First Order treated their soldiers.

This kid looked a little younger than Brenin, skin unhealthily pale and hair a powderpuff of fly-away red-gold. His eyes couldn’t seem to decide on green or blue, and how the fuck _that_ worked Brenin had no idea. There was something familiar to the lost, _sad_ expression lurking in those eyes, but he wasn’t sure what it was or why.

“I was told to report to the quartermaster for basic tac gear.”

Ah, the shrinks had finally cleared some of the deserters for field duty. Good to know. Brenin held out a hand for the flimsi, and he paid extra attention to the anti-forgery marks. He didn’t think the First Order would try sleeper agents, but you never knew.

“No name here, just your photo. What’s up with that?”

He meant it as small talk while he started gathering up the pack, but the way the kid went still wasn’t reassuring. Brenin looked up, and the _lost_ expression made his heart turn over.

“We weren’t given names,” the kid said, trying a little too hard to shrug and look casual. “I’m still trying to find something that fits.”

Brenin nodded, turning back to his work with a bit too much forced diligence. When he handed over the piles of goods, he hesitated instead of turning away immediately. “My grandpa was a clone trooper.” That hurt in his stomach burned a little with pride and appreciation, because the kid was looking at him like Brenin had just declared himself descended straight from General Organa herself. “Maybe we can find you a name, too. What’s your designation number?”

“KN-0833,” the trooper said, and something stirred in Brenin as he scribbled that down on spare flimsi. He looked up, and for a moment, the baggy shirt and trousers seemed brown instead of the ubiquitous tan, coarse-woven instead of standard jumpsuits.

“There was a general,” he murmured, notions pouring into his head from he didn’t know where. “From the clone wars. Kenobi.”

He could see, almost _feel_ something click into place between them, and he knew he’d picked right.

The trooper stepped forward, settling a hand lightly on Brenin’s shoulder, and in his head he could almost hear words.

 _Captain_.

Never mind that Brenin was a sergeant, and happy to keep that rank and out of the field.

 _General_.

Never mind that the deserters had been low-level flunkies, every last one of them. Brenin smiled at blue-green eyes, delighted to see grief he didn’t quite understand finally leave. They leaned towards each other, resting foreheads together and something felt _right_.

 _Good to see you again_.


	3. Cody/Rex/Obi-wan “New Neighbors AU”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted on 09/02/2017 for Anon. 
> 
> Pretty clearly inspired by posts about Obi-Wan what went to the Agri-Corp, and [leechbrain’s](http://leechbrain.tumblr.com/) posts about Rex and plants.

It wasn’t that Obi-Wan didn’t like clones. They’d fought and bled and _died_ in the damned war to save the Republic, for Force’s sake.

It was just that he was too damned used to cleaning up their fucking messes.

Clones tended to leave messes that involved explosions, piles of robotic scrap that went on as far as the eye could see, and far too many bodies.

So when two brand new veterans of the war moved into the apartment next door, Obi-Wan might have spent a little extra time at work.

He wasn’t _avoiding_ them.

There was just always more work. If nothing else, the reams of flimsi never ended.

Two and a half months and one major expedition after the clones’ arrival, Obi-Wan was trudging from the parking underneath the building up to his rooms when a voice called out, “Excuse me, sir? Do you have a moment?”

His tired brain flashed from suspicions of the religious types who frequented the area for converts every few months, to assorted salesbeings, to wondering why the voice sounded familiar. He turned, and tried not to wince. One of the clones was coming out of the apartment next door. It was the one with the nasty scar along the side of his face, the slightly more tired look and a bit less of a swagger than the blond.

“Yes?” He wasn’t sure if he was answering or questioning, but the clone took it as an answer.

“Sorry to bother you, but you’re an Agricorp member, right?”

Once upon a time, it would’ve hurt to hear that. By now, Obi-Wan was proud of his work, proud of what he and the others in the service corps did. “Yes, why?”

He had several mental credits riding on the followup. It was usually something inane about crops – usually dumb jokes – or obnoxious questions about houseplants or housepets, because obviously all an Agricorp type could comprehend was domesticated species that lived in small apartments.

Smart money had a small rider on lightsaber jokes, but thankfully that didn’t happen too often.

“It’s a bit of a long shot, but I was wondering if you might know if the vendors at the plant nursery down a few blocks is reputable or if they’re just trying to make the most credits possible off idiots who know shitall about plants.”

…okay, that was a new one. “…What?”

The clone rolled his eyes, shooting an affectionate but exasperated look back towards his apartment. “Rex – my partner – has this thing about _plants_. We don’t think he’s got an anti-green thumb, but he’s got this…cactus thing that refuses to thrive.”

“A cactus thing,” Obi-Wan repeated. “That covers a lot of territory.”

“It’s small, it’s green, has more pointy bits than I want on my shrubbery, and looks more wilted than General Yoda on a bad day in the rain. Rex knows the names, but – wait. I’m not asking you to diagnose it, I just wanted to– ”

He had to interrupt before the colorful description left him doubled over in laughter. Too apt for him when he was this tired. “Is he overwatering it?”

“I’m pretty sure not, but I’m more on Mess duty than plants.” The clone cleared his throat, then held out his hand. “Commander Cody, by the way.”

“Obi-Wan Kenobi, of the Agri-Corp.”

Nice handshake, nothing to the body language to indicate disdain or derision of someone who couldn’t make the cut as an ‘actual Jedi’ – that was nice. Obi-Wan didn’t think of himself that way, not after this many years. He’d found that a lot of the ‘Corp members had a bit of a ‘fuck that noise’ attitude, and by not being ‘actual Jedi’ it turned out they had a lot less red tape and thus got a lot more done.

Still. It was nice that what was essentially becoming the military corp arm of the Order could produce a nice member like Cody.

“Tell you what. We see you around but we’re not really practiced at this whole socializing thing, so d’you want to come over for some caff or tea or whatever, and you can tease Rex about drowning his plants or whatever? No need for actual advice; you have to do that sort of thing during work hours and we’re not going to push you off hours.”

Ooooh, Force. Cody had a nice smile, with just a hint of wicked humor.

It might have been a premonition, but it was much more likely just good sense.

He was doomed, and he didn’t mind at all.

“I’d be delighted, thank you.”


	4. Rex/Obi “Superhero AU”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted 09/02/2017 for [Arwen00710](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arwen00710/pseuds/Arwen00710).
> 
> "Somehow this went from ‘cute and amusing we don’t really know each other’s secret identities’ to very NSFW. I blame Aces-To-Apples for the extra trope."

The _only_ good thing about Obi-Wan having to cancel a dinner date was that Rex didn’t have to find an excuse to duck out when The Count attacked. The Negotiator was already on scene when Rex arrived, but that was never a surprise: Negotiator had solid precog that seemed to ping very well off the Count’s activities.

Downside: The Count’s minion of the week was a new face, yet another unconventionally pretty woman with a left hook like a truck and rage as an unhealthy lifestyle choice.

Seriously. Rex was all for diversity in the workplace, but The Count’s hiring practices had hit skeevy a long time ago.

His mouth was running on automatic, banter without brain because he was trying to not get beaten to a pulp even with the superadvanced alien armor (always a fabulous name for an embarrassingly formfitting black body glove that produced glowing plates of white and blue energy). He saw Negotiator go flying into – through – several walls, then he was following the hard way as the henchwench took advantage of his distraction.

Rex skidded to a halt half the meeting room further than the Negotiator, armor plates digging furrows through cheap carpeting. Ow. That had hurt. He could see Negotiator stagger to his feet, his face and hair flickering through dozens of permutations while his body went through only several. The mentalist was always visually uncanny, different features changing from one moment to the next, never looking the same for any length of time. Admittedly, Rex could see a black eye and ragged tears to the tan getup, so those were probably real. Fuck, not good.

No, wait. There were new pips on his HUD’s map, more of the Order incoming. His ears were ringing too much to tell, but given the way that The Count hesitated, Fives and Echo weren’t even trying to hide their approach.

He loved those guys, but their powers were not subtle. Neither were they, half the time.

“Deal with them,” The Count growled, before turning in a melodramatic swirl of a cape. Normally Rex would taunt about that, but he was trying to subtly get to his feet without much luck. He…needed a moment for things to stop spinning. And for his armor’s healing factor to kick in.

The henchwench rolled her eyes, and Negotiator snorted. “Leaving you to do all the work, my dear? We at least know how to give credit where credit’s due.”

Rex didn’t like the wicked gleam in her eyes. “Maybe, but your credit isn’t good enough to spend anywhere. Much as I wish I could stay and watch, duty calls. Have fun, boys.” She was reaching towards a belt pouch while bringing the other hand up for a melodramatic air kiss. Rex was stupid and watching the belt, so he saw too late that when she puffed the kiss, a cloud of sparkling he didn’t want to know what sailed into the room. It slammed straight into Negotiator, while Rex caught the outer part of the explosion or whatever.

He had enough time to either put up a breath filter, or a large shield. It was no contest. He slammed a fist down to the floor, engaging an opaque forcefield that enclosed the room, Negotiator, and himself. The henchwench cackled as she ran off, and Rex’s brain tried to seize. Thank gods for autopilot mouth, because he’d already ticked his com. “Fifth floor, meeting room near the center of the floor plan, unknown biological weapon contained _do not approach_ until further notice _get those fuckers!_ ”

Then he killed the com with a grunt, because unholy gods and demons, his libido was out of control. He’d gone from ‘losing end of a fight’ to ‘hard and really, really desperate to fuck’ in several heartbeats, and this was not normal even for his messed up life.

“Captain,” Negotiator declared, using that too calm and restrained voice that meant he was probably closer to pissed as hell, “while I appreciate you limiting your foul language to in-team communications, better phrasing would be appreciated!”

Too damn calm, and something stupid in Rex’s hindbrain wanted to break that restraint, to make the man beg for more by pinning down the Negotiator and finding out if the texture of his skin changed the same way that –

WHAT. Rex let out an almost panicked little whine, head jerking up to stare. Negotiator was looking back at him, eyes hooded and breathing visibly controlled. He was on his stomach, knuckles white as he dug his fingers into the carpet.

Oh god, he was rutting into the carpet a little, panting as he shook his head. “Captain, I need a big favor, your utmost discretion, and for you to do it damn fast.”

Nnnooo, Rex wanted to take his time fucking – well, nothing said it had to be one round – He shook his head, trying to clear the wash of sexual noise out. “The hell was that, actual sex pollen?”

“Irrelevant, but seems accurate enough. Is your com set up to connect to a cell phone?”

“Why?”

Negotiator rolled his eyes, then rattled off a phone number. “I need to call my boyfriend _now_ , because I either need him here or to grovel because I don’t think I can keep from testing that table’s integrity with your hips for very long!”

White noise from shock was far, far better than the fleeting mental images that provided. It cleared fast, because suddenly a spate of ‘fortunate coincidences’ fell into place. Under most any other circumstance, Rex would have guffawed until he was sick, because it seemed that he’d been too busy trying to hide his own secrets to notice Obi-Wan’s.

“Do I really need to repeat the number?” Negotiator snapped.

Rex couldn’t stop that laugh. “No, I know it.” He spared a moment to wonder how Negotiator was even thinking through the haze of lust, given how much more a dose he’d gotten, but it was either a stubborn thing – no one did stubborn like Obi-Wan Kenobi – or a psychic powers things. Then he flicked the mental switch that would power down the energy fields to his armor – including the helmet.

Negotiator went from offended bafflement to wide-eyed gaping. “Rex?” he whispered.

He wasn’t entirely sure what happened next, only that there was the quasi-familiar sensation of telekinetic hands grabbing him. The world tumbled about, then Rex was indeed flat on his back on the long table. Negotiator was sprawled atop of him, but his hair was a familiar dark red and his eyes the more usual mix of blue and green that Rex adored.

It was surreal to have Obi-Wan kissing the breath out of him, hard and thrusting against him like they’d been flirting for hours and had decided ‘hot bothered and clothed’ was the night’s fun foreplay – all while in Negotiator’s tan tunics and high boots getup like world’s weirdest cosplay. When Obi-Wan finally pulled back, he shook his head, sparing a moment to ogle down at Rex’s body glove. “Holy _shit_ Rex, I had no idea that thing fit like that.”

Gods damned cheater was running telekinetic hands under the body glove, making Rex moan and writhe even as he was trying to get Obi-Wan’s clothes off. “Please tell me your getup isn’t as many layers as I think.” He yelped and arched as those hands cupped his ass and tugged him closer.

“It’s probably more.”

“Dammit.” Rex finally got the tunic-y bits clear, and it was an absolute delight to tug down the high collar of the simple shirt underneath it so he could nip along Obi-Wan’s neck. “We’re going to have to have a talk after this.”

“Fucking first, then identity crises and figuring out how to discuss dating co-workers later.” Oh, that mix of Negotiator being droll and Obi-Wan being long-winded should not have been that unbearably hot. “Also, I finally can ask: ‘Captain _Vigilance_?’ What were you _thinking_?”

It was a good thing they probably _couldn’t_ kill the mood, because Rex had been embarrassed about that for weeks after he’d been picked by the suit. “Came with the armor. Believe me, if I’d had to pick the name I’d have gone for something less stupid. How the hell did you hit ‘Negotiator,’ anyways?”

Obi-Wan finally found the seam that split open Rex’s suit when someone else needed it to open (as compared to the much faster mental order to disengage), and in between licking his way down Rex’s chest he snickered. “I was twenty. First time to use my abilities in public. Panicked. Already been talking like I had a thesaurus shoved up my ass, so. Pretentious it was.”

Rex _would_ have said something snarky about the ass comment, but Obi-Wan did _something_ telekinetic deep inside Rex that made him see stars, and then they were far too busy to talk.


	5. Dogma/Echo/Fives, “Sharing a cab as a getaway car from a heist”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted 09/02/2017 for [MoreCivilizedAge](https://archiveofourown.org/users/morecivilizedage/pseuds/morecivilizedage).

Dogma was bored. Fine, he was off shift and taking a break at his preferred location, a little stretch of road that twisted off of downtown and ended up winding through the park. He went there every other day – no need to be obnoxious about things – because it was nice to eat lunch while looking out at trees.

It was just. Well. That was part of the problem. He didn’t know. Something was off, and he couldn’t pin down what, so he was left with this feeling of general disgruntlement and no idea what to do about it.

“Hi,” a man’s deep voice declared. Dogma whipped around as best he could, being in the driver’s seat, and he blinked at the man standing at his door. Sturdy guy, with a goatee, a ballcap over messy dark hair, and a mischievous look Dogma didn’t trust for a moment

“Uh, hi?”

The man’s grin widened a hair. “Budge over.”

“What?” He wasn’t driving, his light wasn’t on so his cab was clearly not for hire, so what the blazes could that mean?

“Budge over,” the man repeated.

His first instinct was to protest. His second was to scrabble back from the window, because there was now a rather large pistol aimed right at his face. By the time Dogma was over the central controls, the goateed man was in the driver’s seat. The man started the cab even as the back driver’s side door opened and closed.

Dogma risked a glance behind him, blanching as a different gun was now aimed at him.

“Now _really,_ ” the guy in the backseat declared, giving the driver a look. “What would the boss say to that?”

Goatee gave a long suffering sigh and rolled his eyes as he started to drive. “‘So uncivilized,’” the man sing-songed. “Fine. _Please_ budge over. Thanks!”

“What do you think you’re doing!”

Back-seat-guy-with-the-large-gun hummed thoughtfully. “Taking you and your cab for a ride.”

Oh like he couldn’t see that already. Dogma glared, then recoiled a bit as the man winked at him. He flushed, glancing away. That meant he got a good view of several large duffle bags Backseat Guy had dragged in with him. One of them wasn’t zipped properly, so Dogma could see what looked like an astonishing amount of cash.

He glanced back up, maybe for confirmation, maybe because his life was boring and not at all like some wacky action flick. Backseat guy was still smiling at him. “Why?” he asked, not sure he actually wanted an answer.

“Well,” Goatee said, “clearly has nothing to do with us, but there might be–”

“ _Nothing_ admissible in court,” Backseat Guy interrupted.

Dogma couldn’t quite help himself. “Rarely relevant, and unless there’s a stark difference between witness and defendant, too unreliable to put in front of a jury.”

He was very conscious of the way both men were looking at him. There was something…speculative to it, not quite predatory, but unsettling in a way he didn’t know how to pin down. It wasn’t bad, but it was…strange.

“No, Echo,” Goatee said. “He can’t follow you home.”

Backseat Guy grinned as he put the gun away. “I can be very convincing.”

Dogma gulped, not sure if boredom was actually worse.


	6. Qui-Gon/Obi-Wan, “Reincarnation AU”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted 09/06/2017 for [Meggory](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meggory/works).
> 
> "Many thanks to Dogmatix, who found far more interesting plot than I could (it’s all her, really), as well as providing some lovely turns of phrase.
> 
> Content warnings: there IS death here, because sadly that’s a requirement for reincarnation fic."
> 
> Also, while marked Qui/Obi it's more a relationship in potentia than anything previously explored.

In all his time as a ghost in the Force, nothing has been quite so horrific for Qui-Gon as watching the duel on Mustafar. The student he loved and the student he should have had, brothers fighting to the death – he had tried for years to avoid this, and it’s for naught.

It is a literal duel to the death. Anakin leaps to the bank, twisting through the air. Obi-Wan swings, even as Anakin extends.

The Force screams with more death, stretched by first the massacre of the Jedi Order, and now the demise of the most powerful Force user in existence. Sliced in half, even as Obi-Wan has a lightsaber close enough to his heart that Qui-Gon wants to scream because he _remembers_ how it felt to die like that.

Nature abhors a vacuum. Qui-Gon is distantly aware of young Padmé stirring, struggling her way back to the shuttle and presumably off to find Yoda and all his damned meddling which has led to such ruin. His attention however is on the way the Force fluctuates, absorbing the power of Obi-Wan and Anakin and then rebounding, pushing _power_ back into the universe.

The threads connecting Qui-Gon to Obi-Wan even through death means he can feel Obi-Wan’s spirit, still so desperate and struggling and vibrant, as it flees outwards instead of becoming one with the turbulent Force.

He can feel it change, renter the world as someone else, still inherently Obi-Wan but different now. Qui-Gon would almost despair but it is so typical of his student, to want to continue to fight (and perhaps avenge his own student, who is finally, _finally_ settling into that long craved peace and unity with the Force).

As always, he is determined to follow. He has many wrongs of his own to right, and he will not abandon Obi-Wan.

* * *

Yoda has not felt this old, this alone in a very, very long time. He stares at the swamp around him, wondering how to make Dagobah a true home. It hasn’t taken but a few days to make a somewhat sufficient base (it does not qualify for a building, and his home is gone, so long gone). Still.

He is not expecting the whirlwind of power that is Qui-Gon Jinn. “Master Yoda, there’s only so much time before the wave crests.” Wave? What wave? This was more cryptic than usual for Qui-Gon. “Have you enough supplies for two?”

“For a time, yes. Plans, have you?”

Qui-Gon’s smile is manic, unreliable. “Yes, but Force only knows if I’ll get it right. I’m rather glad you excelled at crechling duty.”

While Yoda is trying to figure that out – surely Qui-Gon could not be referring to Amidala’s children? – he can feel a shiver of power through the Force. It is a pulse, a mere echo of a massive, far off explosion. He realizes it is the aftermath of Mustafar only later, much later, when he finally has time to stop and think and _breathe_.

At that moment, however, he is too stunned by the sudden squirming youngling in his lap. It is a baby Zabrak, cackling with glee that shines in eyes that same rich blue as Qui-Gon’s.

* * *

Inquisitor Bentuu, loyal servant to His Imperial Majesty Palpatine, is pacing before the cell door as if he were the trapped creature, not the damned _boy_ within. He tries to focus on his rage, his anger at nearly being defeated, rather than his fear.

He knows full well what his job is: destroy those his master or his master’s servants order him to. Destroy the Jedi.

Obey.

It had been a ridiculously drawn out battle, his saberstaff against the old style known as Jar’Kai. The boy had led him a merry chase through Pantora’s swamps, bouncing around like some child’s rubber toy while flinging quips right along with Force attacks. To add further insult, he’d shown spectacular communion with the local wildlife, and having all sorts of creatures leap towards Bentuu’s face during the battle had been…

 _stressful_.

If he never saw a toad that closely again it would be a fucking miracle.

Fear danced down Bentuu’s spine anyways. There is something very, very wrong with that Zabrak. He has no idea what it is, but even in the heat of battle, he could not stop _staring_ , as if those dark blue eyes had some unknown power over him.

Enough. Fear transitions into rage, and he stalks into the cell.

“What did you do to me?” he snarls. “What Jedi trickery are you using?”

The boy rolls his eyes. “Last time I checked I was the one in inhibitor cuffs, not you. How about you tell me, hmm?” He’s not really a boy, and Bentuu is aware of that. Bentuu himself can’t be much older, as far as he can tell, but the Zabrak has this, this _openness_ that scares him, this weirdly likable quality that some obscene part of Bentuu wants to smother himself in. Curl up in it like some feline, basking in this one’s impossible expectation that the universe might hold something like kindness.

If he could, Bentuu would carve that out of himself with his lightsaber. It is _weakness_ , and weakness is death. He’s witnessed first hand what happens to those who develop affection for others, or those who indulge in kindness or mercy.

They are unforgivable sins.

He ignites half of his saberstaff, then prepares to slash the boy in two.

They stare each other down as Bentuu continues to be unable to do his duty. It feels impossibly wrong, like something he knows from painful experience he should not do. He doesn’t do more than _consider_ a shift to stabbing, and something inside wells up, screaming in denial.

He must not. He _cannot_. He lunges forward, slashing and missing the Zabrak by a hair. Instead he grabs the boy by the chin, jerking his head up so those deep blue eyes are locked on Bentuu’s. The Inquisitor's eyes glow yellow with the power of the Dark side, it should make the boy flinch, cower, _something_.

Instead there is just defiance. Patience.

“WHY CAN’T I KILL YOU?” Something is breaking inside Bentuu, and he doesn’t know what. The Zabrak’s eyes widen, and he looks genuinely confused.

“I have no idea. I’d thought the delay was melodrama.”

Oh, if only were it so. Bentuu stands there, caught and trembling, and he can see only one possible escape. He jerks his hand away, rough enough that the Zabrak staggers. Not a problem; it gives Bentuu sufficient access that he can yank the inhibitor cuffs off.

“We’re leaving,” he snarls, and he has no idea what to do with the slow-growing smile he gets for that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was some question when this was posted about who was who: Qui-Gon is the Zabrak raised by Yoda, while Obi-Wan is Inquisitor Bentuu.


	7. Obi-Wan/Rex, “Immortal AU”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted 09/08/2017 for [Morgyn Leri](https://archiveofourown.org/users/morgynleri/pseuds/Morgyn%20Leri). 
> 
> This was a request for "(either immortal or Immortal, depending on if you're familiar enough with Highlander to want to try to work that into the GFFA)" -- since I have a very shaky grasp on Highlander, it's a bit more generic. 
> 
> Content warnings for: injury, kind-of-death, and slavery because the Zygerria episodes can be way too much fun to play with.

**Near Misses**

The first time it happened, Obi-Wan thought it was his imagination. He was rather busy at the time, after all, fighting to keep Ventress busy while the troops took care of the tinnies, and Anakin took care of the explosives.

He thought he saw, out of the corner of his eye, when Captain Rex took a blaster bolt at close range. In the scant moments he had available, Obi-Wan was keenly aware that fire from that range was a death sentence.

Yet at the end of the battle, Captain Rex was still standing, still fighting, and there were too many scorch marks on his armor to tell what was new and what had actually happened.

* * *

The second time it happened, Rex was gossiping with Alpha 17 about Rattatak. The ARC was a bit drunker than he thought, since 79s had stopped watering their booze lately and no one had bothered mentioning that little fact to him. Rex was the only brother crazy enough to approach the drunk ARC, and Alpha 17 started going on about how things had gone down of his own volition.

Rex hoped that his interest in the General wasn’t hugely obvious, but he wasn’t willing to put down credits on the matter. In the meantime, since it was impossible for…far too many reasons, he just soaked up the intel like Kenobi was some new mission objective.

“Thought some brothers were made of durasteel,” Alpha slurred, chugging another shot. “Never seen someone like th’ Gen’ral, though. Coulda sworn Ventress was act’lly tryin’ ta kill him some in there, but no, she wuz that ‘fective at a fakeout. Fuckall if I c’n figure what she thought she’d get outta me from lookin’ like she’d stabbed the Gen’ral in the face. Believable, too.”

That bothered Rex all the way back to the barracks. Alpha 17 was a skilled brother, and they all had a damned good notion of what serious injuries looked like. It was odd that he’d mistake something like that.

Still. The odds of… _something else_ were so slim, he dismissed it out of hand.

* * *

The third time was the second battle of Geonosis. Obi-Wan had tried to pass it off as simply one of those battlefield flukes. After all, Trapper had survived the shuttle crash with him as well – even though he’d died of wounds later. It just hadn’t occurred to anyone that the General was waiting so damn long to rejoin the fight because it took awhile to heal so many broken bones and ruptured organs.

He’d hated every moment of inactivity, being stuck behind the lines of his dying men.

It should have been him. He always knew it should have been him.

* * *

The forth time, Rex hit a bad spate of luck in the Citadel. He’d been too busy watching Echo’s body flying up and away from the exploding shuttle to even register that shrapnel was screaming in towards him. His armor deflected most of it, but a reasonably large shard slammed into his shoulder. It found the narrow gap between pauldron and chestplate, slicing into the body-glove and from the sudden wooziness and rush of blood, it probably found the artery.

Thankfully, everyone was too busy staring at the exploded shuttle to notice him yanking the shrapnel free, holding his body-glove closed enough to hide the most obvious bleeding until that stopped.

* * *

The last time was on Zygerria, in the slave pens. A new overseer came on shift, a swaggering bully that was all too clearly nursing a hangover. From the way he spent time cracking the whip around and at those in Obi-Wan’s vicinity, he’d gotten the details about Obi-Wan’s punishment.

It didn’t take long for that notion to die of loneliness in the bastard’s skull.

Rex had done what he could, bless the man, working to covertly assist the Togruta around them. Yet he was only one man, and the Togruta stubborn, exhausted, and underfed. One of them staggered under a load she could never manage, then it fell as she toppled over. Obi-Wan lunged over, so that by the time the overseer turned, it looked as if he had dropped it instead.

He could feel the man’s rage, the pain of a hangover abused by sudden loud noise. He wanted to wince as he could feel the certainty and murderous fury snap into place.

It would only hurt for a little while, and while there was a chance it would expose his secret to Rex, far better him than another innocent.

Obi-Wan forgot how adept the clones were at reading body language.

The whip remained at the Zygerrian’s belt, and he seemed to draw a blaster in slow motion. Obi-Wan waited for the shot, wondering if he could sneak back in and free Rex after the slavers ‘disposed’ of his body. The overseer fired, and a heavy weight slammed into Obi-Wan, accompanied by Rex’s shout of denial.

That close, with the model of an overpowered blaster more than sufficient to kill? There was pain all right, even with Rex wrapped around him and desperation written all over his face. The bolt went through the Captain’s chest, bound to have seared through several vital organs, only to be exceedingly painful and inconvenient as it severed Obi-Wan’s spine.

Yet again he was responsible for the death of an innocent, and there was no way to pretend he couldn’t see the desperate denial in the Captain’s eyes, the fading hope for…something _else_ that Obi-Wan knew they both harbored – for all that they’d been professional enough to never air.

They hit the floor together, the shouts of the slavers distant to the nightmare playing out right in his arms.

* * *

“I’m so sorry,” Rex whispered, hating beyond words that he’d been too slow, that even his body’s strange physiology hadn’t been enough to save Kenobi.

“Save your breath,” Kenobi ordered. “If you can talk, all we need–”

“You need to _live_ ,” Rex snapped back. “Now hush.” He could see how the other slavers had finished dealing with their trigger-happy guard, and two of them were approaching to see the damage. While Rex appreciated the looks of dread on their faces – he and Kenobi were supposed to be broken mentally, not physically – he just wanted them to get close enough that he could make them regret every miserable moment they existed.

He lunged – a little early, but he was furious and didn’t know how long Kenobi had.

Rex was not expecting the General to lurch to his feet, blood-smeared tunic looking like it was hiding a mortal wound. One swift gesture from the Jedi, and almost a dozen slave collars shattered. Rex didn’t waste time questioning, he just _fought_ , for the first time embracing the oddity that meant no matter what happened to the soldiers he fought with, he at least seemed to survive to fight another day.

Hurt like a bitch, but they managed to clear out their holding area. It was only much, much later, after they’d escaped that nightmare of a planet, that Rex dared to question Kenobi. He waited until after cleanup and the debrief – the latter conspicuously missing details about fatal wounds – and then ventured into the Jedi end of Officer Territory.

Kenobi didn’t wait for him to use the door-chime; as he approached the door it swished open.

“Come in, Captain.”

Rex took one of the two chairs only after Kenobi sat in the other. They eyed each other a bit warily in the silence that seemed far thicker than it could be.

Kenobi broke it, which was good because Rex had no idea where to start. “There have been several occasions where I think we have both wanted to speak about certain matters, but it’s never been appropriate. I – I would like to admit that one of the reasons I have never expressed much interest in…certain people or opportunities is because that long experience has taught me that those I care about always die, and that is often a messy, painful, and futile endeavor.”

Rex felt a bit light-headed. He swallowed. “Not a problem I’d have, sir,” he dared to whisper. He got a sharp look for that, something he couldn’t read the nuance of. “You asked me once about Geonosis. The second battle.” He took a deep breath and made himself talk about something he hated. “Why I reacted so badly to the flight from the wall.”

‘Flight.’ He’d had to practice saying that for awhile in his room. At Kenobi’s nod, Rex looked him in the eyes. “I was having flashbacks to the first battle on Geonosis. I don’t think you’d remember, but I was on the Larty that picked up you, General Skywalker, and Senator Amidala.” From the astonished look, he hadn’t. “When that artillery fire hit us, I was also one of the ones knocked out of the shuttle. I. I landed badly.”

It’d been horrible, not sure which way was up, seeing sky and sand and then the impact, a crack _crunch_ that still made him cringe every time he heard someone’s bones break. He’d spent a lot of time staring at the matching dents between bucket and pauldron later that day, far too aware that while he’d staggered to his feet and followed the Senator – that was impossible.

“It was the first fatal injury I’d gotten.”

Kenobi was staring at him, wide-eyed. “But not the last,” he whispered.

“No.”

The Jedi looked away, staring at his desk terminal with an intensity that made Rex quail inside. This was one of the reasons he’d never said anything – neither of his… _resilience_ to permanent injury nor his interest in Kenobi. That man deserved better than some puppy crush from a clone who was a mutant in more than the obvious way.

“Saleucami,” Kenobi finally whispered. “That shot was fatal, wasn’t it.”

He winced. “Yes.”

It was…strange, how Kenobi seemed to be making himself meet Rex’s eyes. “So was Hardeen’s shot.”

For a long moment, Rex couldn’t make sense of the words. Then he stared. Kenobi grinned, a tiny little thing that flickered in and then out of existence. “I’m not entirely sure what the first incident was for me, but there are a fair number of contenders. I…don’t suppose you’d care to stay and – and talk more?”

He didn’t need to be a Jedi to hear the levels of invitation, nor the acceptance. Rex couldn’t stop a stunned smile from growing. “I’d like that very much. It’d be nice not to be alone right now.”

Kenobi – _Obi-Wan_ – smiled back. “Agreed.”


End file.
